


Water comes back to water

by tothemovies (jayjem_jam)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Divergent, Gen, M/M, growing apart growing together, people you adopt into your friend group in high school stay for life actually, that weird transitory phase between high school and college, yes seijoh is just one big family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayjem_jam/pseuds/tothemovies
Summary: There isn’t solely one path to walk through life.“Then how are you meant to walk through it then?” Issei questioned, always wanted to know. Takahiro laughed, eyes closed, fingers at the back of his head, gripping where his skull protruded into reachable groves, all with the ease of a man who knew what Issei didn’t.“Sometimes, Issei, you walk with it.”
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Seijoh Week 2020





	Water comes back to water

**Author's Note:**

> for seijoh week 2020 - day 1 (family) - day 4 (lost) 
> 
> wanted to dive a little into a mattsun study piece (with my life philosophy throughout) and write about my favourite dynamic of all time - despite everything and everyone, it's always been you - for matsuhana. they've made it. this is only the beginning

> I took no maps, I cannot read maps - why press a seal on running water? After all, the only rule of travel is, Don't come back the way you went. Come a new way 
> 
> Anne Carson | Plainwater, essays and poetry

Before school drew to a close, goodbyes exchanged and contacts shoved to one another, the Seijoh 2012 VBC took a commemorative photo. Issei had it pinned on his desk in college, then his consequent adult house. Hajime called him sentimental bastard, even though he himself calls Issei nowadays to reminisce about the good ol' days. Shinji keeps consistent contact with Issei - the rest dip in and out of focus. The kids are pretty good with checking in with him, mostly because they need something and he's obviously the cooler senior to run to when things get tough. This picture grounds him. It holds him to the land of the living.

Oikawa packed bags and moved countries the minute school ended, saying fuck all to tertiary education. Hajime too upped and left to grand America and it was Takahiro and Issei in mutual feelings of directionlessness, the pang of which is similar for recent high school graduates. What now? They finished this chapter of their life. They can't go back, not when the same people and time can't be turned back in exactly the same place. 

Takahiro endured university for the first semester, arguably the hardest semester for all students, before declining his intentions to leave, bidding adieu to Issei.

"What will you do?" He asked, over very bad beer and worse food.

Takahiro's hair is all over his eyes and forehead, shoulders bobbing.

"Who knows? We all walk differently down different roads. I'll see you when I see you, Mattsun."

  
  
  


Contrary to his overall appearance, he is nowhere near the heartbreaker that his friends have been. _Quiet romantic guy,_ Takahiro branded him, smirk all up in his face and ear. The gang collectively broke hearts and hopes, with Issei simply existing in that shared heartbreaking energy. To be a quiet romantic guy is turning out to be a curse, one teenager Issei should have seen coming. 

Like all passive face-holders and principlers, he held a lifelong thought that ‘ah, what I want will simply happen to me; hard work determines the speed of how fast I will get there, it is simply corollary’. He shared this wonderfully flawed principle with Oikawa, who maintained an excellent front of genius competence. He was born to rule the courts. There was no volleyball before Oikawa. 

Issei applied for the nursing program at Tohokudai, because he was quietly romanticising about helping people and the prestige that is fundamental to every student entering the healthcare sector. He’s got the brains and capacity for it. Like always, he thought, _ah, what I want will simply happen to me._

Issei had the brains for the program, but something high school didn’t teach its graduates was that wanting is simply the first step, hard work covers the rest of the path.

Takahiro similarly suffered through this plight, though he was more flippant about the revelation. He’s always been the more easygoing soul in their group of friends, the hedonist that scandalised Hajime, the reliever Oikawa clung onto, the steady presence propping up half of Issei’s shadow. Seventeen saw them gazing out unto the horizon of the adult world as a place of wonder and infinity, where youth is never defeated. What they want, they will get. Takahiro told them to be less ambitious, live a little. Hajime frowned. Said _you’re going to go nowhere with that mindset._

Hajime is disciplined. Hajime knows what he wants, works hard, works at it until he gets where he wants to be. It isn’t a simple task, separating from seventeen years of familiarity to a land where nothing is alike everything he's been through before, but Hajime is bullheaded, in every sense. Plow forward, plow back. He told Issei that he knew Takahiro would drop out, would be the vagabond waffling about to no ends, and Issei told him to be less mean about it. There isn’t solely one path to walk through life. 

“Then how are you meant to walk through it then?” Issei questioned, always wanted to know. Takahiro laughed, eyes closed, fingers at the back of his head, gripping where his skull protruded into reachable groves, all with the ease of a man who knew what Issei didn’t.

“Sometimes, Issei, you walk with it.”

Issei contemplated his options and decided that he didn't want what he was doing. He dropped out of nursing a year into it. He spent a year getting yelled at by Shigeru while he was preparing for his own entrance exam and almost spraining his upper body helping Ken train, but it was a good year nonetheless. The quiet romantic in him bloomed with the thought that ‘romantic’ was not simply a noun to inhabit - it must become an active principle. 

Oikawa called, sniffing and acting rotten, before admitting to missing them terribly. Issei iced the bruise on his wrist, paying mind only to the familiar dulcet tune of Oikawa blabbing. He took in a breath when Oikawa stopped to breathe back in.

“I dropped out of nursing.”

His friend made a ‘tell me more’ noise. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Dunno. Guess we’ll see.”

“Ya don’t have to know, Mattsun ~ Not everyone is as bullheaded as Iwa-chan or as glamorously decisive as I am. You go where you go, okay?”

When Issei didn’t reply in the requisite point seven second allocated thinking and responding time, Oikawa started whaling again.

“I had to put ‘glamorously decisive’ into my tombstone ideas folder. When you die, I’ll have this engraved on granite, cap.”

Oikawa howled louder, before settling down seriously.

“I’m serious, Issei. You do what you do, okay? No one is an innate genius.”

“Even Kageyama?”

He could imagine Oikawa’s scowl. _“Especially_ Tobio-chan. No one will think lowly of you, Mattsun.”

“Wow, I’m so flattered, really, Tooru, you flatter me to no ends -”

“This is because I think so low of you already, so nothing will change that.”

Issei considered the time. The ice bag melted, seeping into his pants, permuting his skin. He shook off his shiver.

“Go away, cap. I’ll call you some other time.”

“Whaa, don’t leave me, Mattsun! I’m so lonely ~!”  
  


  
  


Issei considered his path in life for a long time, would have considered for a longer time and inevitably missed out on admission dates but for Kunimi.

The but-for test required for negligence is straightforward. Negligence would not have otherwise occurred but for the breach and a reasonable person would also agree to that assessment. Kunimi's duty as a _kouhai_ was to act kiddish and ask for favours. Kunimi's job description had yet to entail tortfeasor, but the youth are full of infinites. Everyday, they surprise him.

Kunimi was full of demands. Never a _please_ within his words. The kid held set out, carefully formulated bargains in that brain. _I made you an offer to the detriment of my sake. You either accept the offer or you bow out, I don’t hand out offers lightly, senpai._

Kindaichi had about three minutes to warn him during the morning when they had a brief catch up chat, before Kunimi appeared, school tie loosened, bangs shoved out of the way.

“I’m going to Okinawa for my aunt’s funeral. Everything had already been taken care of. You’re coming with me.”

The purpose of younger people, Issei contemplated, was to make the older generation feel needed. Kunimi was the poster child of Japanese self-sufficiency - the unfortunate result of both parents working odd hours and longer shifts to provide for their only child. He didn’t rely too terribly on the Terrible Two when they were in Kitagawa either. It were Kindaichi and Kageyama back then, Kunimi not part of the equation of reliance. Issei, somehow, had become his first port of call despite them spending a meagre year together. Kunimi had always existed in the very mode of asceticism; no action is in excess. The promise hung in the doorway - Issei had not granted him further access than the raised grove before his family home. Kunimi had propositioned him with a promise, an offer made - Issei was to grant him a consideration in acceptance.

“Not even a please?” Issei was already shrugging on a jacket. 

“I am in grief, _senpai._ I’ll do a lot more than that,” Kunimi told him, face never once twitching away from its usual stoic post.

“Okay you sad child, we’re goin’, we’re goin’. Just let me find my suit and shoes.”

  
  
  


They got to Okinawa within a time frame of seven hours (Kunimi-approved), where another stoic faced Kunimi waited for them. Kunimi the junior turned to him in the car, announced that he was to call him Akira henceforth. “We’re all Kunimis here, it’ll get confusing.”

“I’ve been wanting to call you by your given name for ages, how could you know, Akira-chan,” he drawled back. Something twitched inside the hard set line of the kid’s mouth.

  
  
  


Akira vehemently avoided mentioning his aunt by name. Issei juggled the views of usual Japanese deference to elders by affixing them simply by titles and the jarring reality of his junior grieving, following closely at Akira’s elbow. It’s the first time he’s seen someone’s back for such a prolonged period outside of a volleyball court. Akira’s uncle knelt, watching a quietly smiling portrait of a woman in neat collars, hair hanging by her chin. This was November of 2013. Issei touched a hand to Akira’s shoulders as he bent to his knees, one leg at a time. 

“Someone showed me a photo of fifth aunt, coupla months before,” Akira made a vague hand movement. Issei caught the drift. “Yeah. She looked happy. Like she knew it’s all coming to an end. She was going to turn thirty, this December.”

“Everything goes. Her time was just earlier than what you expected.” He offered, almost clinically, to Akira. There were no tears from the kid. Cold, hard stone. He directed funeral guests to the dining area with ruthless efficiency. He made the address, thanked people for coming. He even spoke crisp, ordered Okinawan to the locals.

“She always wanted an answer. Why we’re here, why we do the shit we do. Guess, ah,” he scrubbed once at his eyes, squeezed shut, long sleeves of a too big suit jacket dragging across a young face marred with loss. 

“She found what she was looking for,” he knew what Akira wanted to say. “You can cry in front of _senpai._ I won’t make fun of you.”

“Good,” Akira sniffed once. “Or else.”

  
  
  


After that, it was a chain of acquaintances, friends, families, who would ask. 

“Issei -”

“Matsukawa-kun.”

“Matsukawa -”

All the same request - “Can you be my plus one to this funeral?”

It was a bit disorienting to be asked to accompany others to an event of loss, but as opposed to his general heartbreaking presence during high school, he suddenly held a solid post of support, dishing out effective gestures and grounding words that helped heal. He was not a sugarcoating bastard, but he did not speak to harm either. 

He sipped tea with the monk in the small Shinto temple, at the edge of Sendai. The kids were in their final year of high school. The rest of the kids banded together to pressure him to apply to the life sciences department. He had not heard from Takahiro in almost a year. Life was as it should.

Takahiro did not change his number - Issei knew this because he received a text from nowhere.

**Hiro** : Father, forgive me for I have sinned 

**Me** : Not a priest

Takahiro responds to that particular reply by calling him. Issei tumbles with the phone, almost dropping it. His old friend cackles as he breathlessly answers, a wheezy _hey_ into the call.

"You good?" Takahiro hacks a laugh.

"Not a priest, stop trying to use me to confess your sins."

"Aww, but friendship is a give or take."

"So a transaction," he huffs. "Stop derailing. What are you up to now?" 

There is the faint hubbub of liveliness, a vibrant night-life. They are apart, separated by places, people, days and lived moments apart. How does one speak to another in the words of the present if all they have together is the past?

“Here and there. Changed jobs a lot. You? Still in Sendai?”

“Still in Sendai. I did drop out of nursing though.”

Takahiro barks out a delighted laugh, sharp and keening at the back of his throat. He is with the rippling air, pulling out discordant strings in the air.

“Toldcha that course was whack. Anyways, anyways, cap won’t make it home because he is a perfectionist and he thinks he has to look good in front of us, and Iwa is off doing fuck-all. How about you, me with the kids, we all meet up? Do something, go somewhere,?”

Takahiro revives the team while Issei is a post where they upend their problems unto. Fun and carefree. Quiet and steady. 

“I’ll pencil you monkeys in my calendar,” he smiles, can tell that his words hold a smile, know Takahiro knows that he’s smiling.

“Call the children! I’ll text you more details later on!”

  
  
  


The Matsukawa-Hanamaki Reunion apparently was called for. The children know that he knows they know, them jostling into one another in throwing hugs around him, even Ken who sets his teeth and touches his arm with the corded set of his shoulder. Shigeru hangs off Shinji, gossiping terribly with Yuu and giving Akira grief about Kageyama. Issei checks the time. Looks up when the lull of conversation registers, to a pair of clean shoes, long legs, long hair -

"Hey you," Takahiro grins, resting the weight of a stranger and a friend on one hip. "What's with that look?"  
  


Theirs is a story that is constantly in motion. A wheel in motion, a wheel that pauses - always moving. He sits across from Takahiro, ankles bumping, as Yuu yelps as he's being grilled ruthlessly about his haircut. Ken and Akira brave through the circus monkeys on either side of Issei's elbows, though Akira keeps on glancing at him. A glance when Takahiro taps his chopsticks against the glass of Issei's watch, an idle wink in his eyes, before retreating. Another glance when Issei raises his voice to tell the riffraffs to roll up their sleeves, zeroing in on Takahiro.

Ken gets pulled into snack searching by Shigeru - it's just Akira sitting here with him. Takahiro had gone off with Yuu and Shinji, when Akira speaks, out of nowhere.

"When will you stop staring at Hanamaki-senpai like that so I can get some peace and quiet?"

"I don't know, when will you stop texting Kageyama?"

Akira's face twists into a scowl, but eases out when Shigeru stumbles back, waist held by Ken who secures him like a seatbelt. Easy, casual, carefree. Shigeru's face is almost as pink as the shade of his tie.

_"Senpai_ , this is so fu~n," slurs Shigeru. "I love you all."

"Can someone please get him home, he's straight up going to die," Akira rolls his eyes, as Takahiro rolls in with the nicer children.

"Time for him to go," Ken passes a limp Shigeru off to Shinji. "I'll come with."

"We live that way too, so we're coming as well!" Cheers Yuu, who bounces back to Issei for a hug before fitting himself under Shigeru's right, marching him alongside Ken.

"We?" He echoes back. Akira waves at him, nods to Takahiro.

"Good night, _senpais."_

Takahiro spins to him with a sliced up mouth. His eyes are closed in the warm night.

  
  
  


"You never told me how you were." He turns to Takahiro as they meet glances in the lit street.

"Financially, like, I'm not too well, but otherwise." Takahiro tips in, closer, so much that he catches the faint scent of an old cologne from the proximity.

"Otherwise?"

"Doin' much better now that I saw ya, Issei."

Takahiro's path in life is marked by the no-drama approach he adopts, in that there are no ultimate _be all end all_ consequences for his actions. Sometimes, he grins, as if he knows something others don't, life should just be about the little things. 

"Living day by day," Issei muses, shoulder pressed warmly against Takahiro's. "That sounds like a life I could get behind."

"You’re easy," Takahiro pushes lightly against him. "Anything goes."

"Well _not_ everything," he argues hotly as the other hacks out a whistling laugh. Back of his throat, head thrown back. 

"I'm sure, big buy," one fist touches the centre of his chest. "So?"

"So what?" He stares back. Takahiro's shoulders shake, before he comes closer, a keyring dangling on his fingertip.

"I'm going to just invite myself in, kay?"

"In -?"

"Everywhere you allow me entry."

"What if I don't know what they are?"

Takahiro's fist unfurls into a pressed out hand, fingers and palm branding his ribs.

"We'll find out together, yeah?" 

  
  


Issei's life bloomed from 'I' into one of 'we'. They. Matsukawa-Hanamaki. Hyphenated, inseparable. They drift apart, then drift back to one another - this is a choice on both their parts.

"'m visiting Oikawa next month," Hajime announces over the call. He's in Tokyo doing athletic trainer things. "You are coming to see him too." Takahiro boos.

"We're not all rich, Hajime-kun."

"You don't get Hajime-kun privileges," Hajime points out. "Issei can take care of it, _he's_ rich."

"Well I make a point of _not_ exploiting people I actually care about, so how about you distribute that wealth to those who need it?"

  
  


On their fridge hangs a picture of Tooru and his new teammates. He wrote a rude message in Portuguese to Japanese friends.

On Issei's desk, the old Seijoh photo hangs in tandem with the new Seijoh one, taken in 2019 with a lot of coordination. They wore bibs with ramen orders and the Captain was in ugly tears.

  
  


Issei doesn't have much and everything goes away at some point, but this stays. 

"You being all brooding and serious again?" Takahiro digs an elbow into his side, drops a kiss onto his head. 

"We can _hear_ you," Akira grumbles.

"Oh good, your ears are working fine then," Shigeru beams back. "You owe me money, Kunimi-chan."

_"Senpai_ , you're not my captain anymore."

"I _was!"_

Issei looks up at Takahiro, who winks idly at him. He raps knuckles against the heart. It pulses.

"This is good."

Takahiro beams. "Ain't it, hey?"

**Author's Note:**

> me: don't do it  
> also me: put in the but-for test required by the australian courts to determine breach of duty in tortious actions for negligence RIGHT BEFORE the bargain requirement needed for consideration in contract law
> 
> please excuse me law school is a minefield of trauma
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hozukitofu) and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jenny_benny)! i have a writing [twitter](https://twitter.com/jayjem_jam) if anyone is interested in more bs or we can just vibe in the void together


End file.
